Morte
by Shelamnia
Summary: Alex is in France, with Ian. He's five. With Alex, it's not the "terrible twos". It's the "fearful fives". How does Alex manage to get himself into these situations? Rated T for gruesome scene second chapter.
1. Chapter 1

The waves tumbled over one another like kittens in a basket, sunlight sparking glittering eyefuls. They beckoned to the onlookers, the hordes of people on the beach watching the sunset. The sunlight was reflecting off the water, forming a golden pillar below the departing sun.

Alex looked out over the sea. It was his first time ever seeing it.

"_How is it?_" Ian asked. Alex stared at him blankly.

"_Do you like the water?_" Ian tried again. Alex raised his eyebrows in understanding. He smiled and nodded.

"_I don't know if you'll like water so much in the future, Alex. Who knows what your future holds._" Seeing his nephew's uncomprehending stare, Ian rephrased his statement. "_Good job, Alex._"

Alex smiled in return.

* * *

Ian wondered if taking his nephew with him was such a good idea after all. Undercover for a year in France, he'd not only forced Alex into a land where he couldn't comprehend anything, but he'd done it to Alex at the age of five. And he'd specifically instructed Alex not to speak a word of English.

Ian knew how much Alex wanted his approval, his praise.

He felt dirty.

When Ian had been five, he had definitely _not_ been learning French. And he most certainly didn't speak Spanish or German. But Alex wasn't him. Alex was John's son.

Alex needed to be able to go anywhere, do anything. Ian didn't know the details, but he knew that John had been involved with a very large, serious, dangerous company – or at least, the plain-clothes agents patrolling their home in London would seem to say so. John would have wanted his son to be protected.

That meant preparing Alex for anything.

"_We went now?_" Alex asked, unsure in the foreign tongue. A bystander chuckled on his way.

"_Can we go now?_" Ian automatically corrected. He paused, then answered, "_No, I'll go alone. You should go back to our flat and wait for me. Got it?_" Alex bit his lip. Ian sighed. At least Alex understood he wanted a confirmation.

"_I go there. You go there. You go to the apartment. You wait. I come later. Okay?_" Alex nodded this time and opened his mouth as if to say something. His eyebrows knitted, however, and he closed his mouth.

"_What is it?_"

Alex shook his head. "_I don't know how to say it._"

"_Try. The worst that can happen is that I won't understand._"

"_I want to know you go there?_"

Ian sighed. He had a matter of business to attend to. He couldn't tell Alex that. "_You want to say, 'Where are you going?' I'll tell you later._" He never would.

Slowly, Alex nodded. They parted ways.

* * *

"He's definitely not our man," the woman in the shadows commented. She had overheard the entire exchange.

"Oh?" a man asked. "And why's that?" He had been an 'innocent' bystander passing by Alex and Ian's conversation. He'd dropped a small microphone on the ground.

The woman stared at him, disbelievingly. "What sane agent would bring a child with them? Especially one clearly related to them? The British government doesn't employ child agents. That boy is obviously French, though probably retarded."

The man conceded. "We'll have to search the other people on that flight."

* * *

A few days later, Ian showed Alex the ocean for the first time from the French coastline.

Several months later, Alex was just about fluent.

"_Ian?_" Alex asked. "_Why don't I have a mom or a dad? The other kids do._" Ian had gotten MI6 to give him an apartment with a bunch of other families. Alex often played with the other children his age.

Ian sighed, and very gently replied, "_Your parents are dead, Alex._" Alex blinked. Ian could tell that he didn't understand.

"_Dead? What's that?_"

Ian crouched and met his nephew at the same eye-level. How does one explain to a five-year-old what it means to be 'dead'?

"_Dead means that your parents have left you, Alex. They're not coming back. Ever._"

Five-year-old eyes bugged out. "_My parents didn't want me?_"

"_No, no! It's not like that._" Ian massaged his temples, thinking fast. Distraction: a useful tool for babysitters. "_Would you like to talk about this over a dinner? My treat._"

Alex pursed his lips and nodded.

* * *

"_And that, Alex, is what it means to die._" Ian had been very carefully watching his nephew the entire time, but the boy was terribly hard to read. He still had the same expression he'd started with, chewing slowly as if thinking about what the food tasted like.

"_But I want to see them. I don't care if they're dead._" Alex creased his eyebrows. "_Don't I get to see them?_"

Ian reached out over the table and took Alex's small hand in his, halting the meal altogether. "_Alex, I already told you. They're not coming back. It's okay if you're sad - many people are when they find out their relatives are dead._" Ian had no idea how to break it gently to the boy, but he also didn't know how to deal with tears.

Alex's lips were trembling, and he was definitely tearing up.

"_Alex..._" A brainwave hit Ian. "_They're not coming back, but it's said that people who die see dead loved ones. Maybe you'll see John and Helen when you die._"

Ian could already tell Alex was getting the wrong idea. A very wrong idea.

Damn kids.

"_So... if I make myself die – or stop my heart, like you said –, then I can see my parents?_" A woman in a lime-green dress at a nearby table stared in shock at Alex. She'd just sat down, and she hurriedly departed.

"_No! No, Alex. You have a long life ahead of you. Your parents would want to hear lots of stories when you see them – not a tale about how you killed yourself. Promise me, Alex. Promise me you will never, ever give up on life, no matter how dire the situation or how hopeless things seem._"

Alex looked down at the table, thinking. Alex was twirling his fork with his free hand, and he clenched the hand in Ian's grip. Ian didn't know what he'd do if Alex refused.

A very, very long silence between them took hold.

Ian swallowed. He had no idea what Alex was thinking. "_Alex?_"

The boy stopped spinning the fork to look at Ian directly. He looked so young, so innocent. So troubled.

"_I promise._" Ian sighed, relieved. He covered the hand he held with his other hand and was about to thank Alex when the boy interrupted him. "_But only if you promise to tell me everything about my father._"

That was easy and difficult. Ian tried to avoid thinking about the sore spot known as the hole his brother left. Alex was filling it, slowly, but Ian knew vestiges of that wound would remain even after he long forgot his brother's face. But Ian needed Alex to promise him.

"_Of course. When do you want to know?_"

"_Now._" Ah, ever the five-year-old.

Ian sighed deeply. He squeezed Alex's hand tightly. "_Well then..._"

Just as Ian was ready to reluctantly embark on a long recollection of his brother, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It was important.

"_I'm sorry, Alex. I have to take this call._"

"_But Ian-_"

"_No. I'm sorry. Just give me a minute._"

Alex stuck out his lower lip and looked down. Ian sighed, ruffled his hair, and walked out the door to take the call in the alleyway beside the restaurant.

* * *

"Hello?" Ian answered in English.

"Agent Rider? We've got a situation." Ian swallowed. He hoped it was far from his nephew.

"What's up?"

The voice on the other end of the line paused. Ian knew whoever it was was only relaying information. "We've got a witness on the female head. She's red-headed, about five feet two inches tall, slim, and with a nose 'like the beak of a raven', as the witness said. We have reason to believe she's in your vicinity."

"Thanks. Anything else? Clothes?"

"Lime-green dress, turquoise purse. Flat shoes. That was early this morning, though."

Ian recalled the woman who'd left the restaurant. "I just saw a woman in a lime-green dress, but she left the _Le Carré_ restaurant a few minutes ago."

"Can you catch up to her? Follow her?"

"No - she's probably long gone."

"Do you remember her face?"

"No." Ian paused, but the other end of the line was silent. "Any news on her male accomplice?"

"None. He's still just a shadow."

Ian sighed. "Right. Thanks for the update."

Ian knew he was not to hang up until the other side did. It was customary. He waited for what felt like an eternity. "Well?"

"Hang on, I'm still reading the new orders," the person on the other side replied. After another moment, the person continued. "If you see the woman, try to place the tracker Smithers gave you on her."

About a week before, Smithers had given him several rice-grain-sized tracking devices that would stick to cotton and withstand gastric juices for up to three weeks. Ian was doubtful about how useful they would be, considering they were fairly easy to spot and difficult to attach or force down someone's throat. But he'd resignedly accepted anyway.

Ian had tested it out on Alex, giving it to him for breakfast when he first got them. True to Smithers' word, the cellphone would display the map with a small dot indicating the color of the tracking device. Alex had swallowed the red tracker. It was John's favorite color.

"Signal HQ that your tracker is on her if you get it on her. Give them the code for that tracker and follow her. Do not initiate contact. We want the location, not the person."

"Yes, sir." Ian heard him loud and clear.

"Rider?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

Ian listened, and sure enough, there was a small click on the other end. He snapped the phone shut and went back into the restaurant.

* * *

Alex watched sadly as Ian walked out the door. He'd learned a while ago not to argue too much about Ian's inopportune calls; he'd been grounded the first time for making Ian miss it. Alex had missed a film during that time.

"_Hello, little boy._" A woman in a lime-green dress broke Alex out of his thoughts. Alex stared at her for a moment.

"_Hello?_" Alex replied uncertainly. "_Who are you?_" Then Alex remembered Ian had also told him not to talk to strangers. Oops.

The woman smiled sweetly at Alex. Her mouth and nose formed an anchor-shape, with her nose so sharp. This time, however, she spoke in French. "_I'm a good friend of your father's - Joyce._"

Alex brightened immediately. After all, he was only five and his uncle had just walked out before telling Alex anything about his father.

"_Really? Can you tell me about him?_"

Joyce frowned when Alex asked. Alex had no idea that she thought he was testing her. "_Ah, it's okay. I don't want to make you sad._"

"_Sad? Why would I be sad?_"

Alex shrugged. This woman was rather strange, he thought. But she knew his father, so he wanted to get to know her. "_Ian said sometimes people are sad when people they know die._"

"_Your father's dead?_" Joyce asked, incredulous. Her eyes widened. "_When did he die?_"

"_Not long after I was born, in a plane accident._" Alex figured Joyce probably hadn't seen his dad in several years. She did live in France, after all. He did wonder how she knew he was his father's son, though. "_Sorry you had to find out this way._"

The woman seemed to be switching gears. "_Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry I missed the funeral._"

She looked about ready to cry, so Alex swallowed his question about how she knew Alex's face. "_It's okay._" He offered a sheepish smile. "_What's a 'funeral'?_"

Joyce blinked at him, then smiled wistfully. "_It's a sort of celebration to send the deceased person on to the next life. So, who was that man you were with?_"

Alex, relieved that tears were averted, answered without thinking. "_He's Ian. He's like a father to me._"

* * *

Joyce was shocked. Her partner had been right. MI6 did employ children - orphaned ones - and placed them with agents. When Alex had been asking about dying, she realized Alex's previous 'retarded-ness' was due to his inexperience with French. She would never have guessed the developed country would sink to such measures.

Joyce studied the small boy in front of her. "_What's your name?_"

"_Alex._" Alex looked confused. "_Wait - you knew my face, but not my name? But not that my dad was dead?_"

Joyce scrabbled for an answer. She remembered a male name from Alex and Ian's conversation: John. That whole conversation about dying must have been about Alex's father, though she'd only caught the tail-end and recognized the pair by chance. "_I saw such a strong resemblance that I thought you must be John's son._"

Alex admired her with something like awe. She'd guessed his father's name correctly. "_Wow, you're really smart._" Then he smiled widely_._ "_You knew who I was even when I was with Ian!_"

Joyce cursed in her head. She'd been caught in her own lies.

Then she realized the boy was completely sincere.

Joyce blushed and acted sheepish. "_Well, I do have a degree in anthropology,_" she lied.

"_That's so cool!_" Alex gushed. "_What's anthropology?_"

"_It's the study of humans - people. Would you like to come over to my house?_"

Alex grinned. Joyce had him completely fooled. "_Sure!_" Then his smiled dropped, and Joyce felt worry rise up in her stomach. Had he caught on? "_Um, I know you might be sad, but can you tell my about my father?_"

"_Of course I can._" This boy would be easy to lure, now. She just had to be careful to match up her story with what the boy knew. "_What do you know about him?_"

"_Ian was about to tell me, but he had to take a phone call. So, nothing._"

Joyce had no doubt this trustful young boy was telling the truth. This was going to be even easier than she'd planned.

* * *

Ian frowned as he reentered the restaurant. His table was empty. The criminal in the lime-green dress had been there not long ago.

Had the woman kidnapped Alex?

* * *

"_And he was also very handsome._" Alex beamed. He hoped his father had been cool, and Joyce was backing up that theory.

They were in a taxi, riding to Joyce's apartment. Alex suddenly remembered that Ian didn't know where he was.

"_Um, Joyce?_" She hummed questioningly. "_Do you have a phone I can borrow? I forgot to tell Ian where I'm going._"

The woman smiled serenely. "_No, you'll have to wait until we get to my apartment._"

Alex grinned. "_Okay._"

* * *

AN: If people like this, I'll put up the next chapter. It is hot-off-the-press, so my apologies for any mistakes.

I do have a condition, though - **someone _MUST_ tell me what the release date for _Scorpia Rising_ is _in the USA_**. Guess who's lazy? ;-)

Thanks y'all for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Ian was near panicking. He'd already dialed MI6's emergency number and explained the situation - including how he'd tested the tracking device on Alex. They instructed him to return to his apartment and wait for other agents in the area to save Alex. They didn't want the unpredictable factor of father-son-like relationships, as Ian understood it. MI6 also turned on the tapping device in his phone, in case the woman should make contact.

She did.

"_Hello?_" Ian answered uncertainly.

"_Hi, Ian!_" Alex's happy voice answered. Ian breathed a sigh of relief. At least Alex wasn't hurt - yet."_An old friend of my father's showed up while you were on the phone. Her name is Joyce, and she's telling me all about him. I'm at her apartment right now._"

Ian felt worry spread. He was in Alex's room. The walls were a baby blue, reminiscent of the sky. They'd talked about painting the ceiling like the night sky. Ian had rummaged through the dresser; he'd been worried. In his hands was one of Alex's favorite outfits: jeans and a green t-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face. Would Alex ever see it again?

More importantly, what should Ian say to Alex?

"_Ian? Joyce wants to talk to you._" Well, that solved his problem.

"Hello, Ian," a pretty, female voice answered in English after a long moment. "I know you're MI6. Don't talk - just listen, if you ever want to see Alex again."

Damn.

"You can probably tell that Alex is unharmed presently. He's also very calm and unaware of the danger he's in. I want complete amnesty for myself in exchange for his safe return."

"Amnesty?" Ian asked before he could stop himself.

"Yes," the woman replied. "That, and a new identity with credentials and protection. I want out of this business."

Ian heard a click and realized another party had tapped into his conversation. Another female voice spoke. "Hello, Joyce." Ian cursed mentally. It was Jones - that new agent. He wished it was someone more experienced. "We can arrange that for you. In return, we would like-"

"NO!" Joyce shouted over the line. "I'm not betraying my organization any more than I already am. They'll let me go at this point, but if I sell anyone out, I'm as good as dead."

"I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that we would like it if you would keep Alex under the impression that you are one of his father's friends." Ian was surprised. That was definitely not part of MI6's orders. Maybe this new agent was still human.

The line was silent. After a while, Joyce answered quietly. "I can do that."

"Then we have a deal," Jones replied. The line clicked. "Joyce is gone, Rider. Just stay where you are, alright? I'm leading this operation, and I don't want any mistakes."

Ian felt like his stomach had dropped out. Then again, it was the perfect operation for a newbie - nothing was expected to turn up in France. They were there for the 'just in case' scenario; the organization was supposedly based in another country with a few links in France. Ian had requested it on purpose - light work, since he had a child with him.

"Are you going to keep up your end of the deal?"

Jones snorted. "If we weren't, do you think we'd tell you?"

"Fair point." That didn't really answer Ian's question. He hoped Jones simply wasn't sure yet and was going to contact their superiors. "I think I'd like to be there. I think - I think that Alex would respond better to seeing me."

Jones was silent for a long moment. "I see your point. We'll contact you when we have Alex."

"Still, I'd-" click. The line was dead. Ian sat for a long time where he was, not moving.

He wasn't going to recklessly endanger Alex's life by showing up on the scene. Hostage situations were always tricky. Ian had dealt with them before, but it'd never been personal. Now he understood why relatives never got to know what was going on with the rescues. They would react poorly.

Ian picked up the small outfit beside him again. He'd put it down when Jones had come onto the line. With a sigh, Ian threw it into a briefcase along with a few toys Alex liked. A yo-yo, a hand-held game device, a French board game, and a few others.

He hoped Alex wouldn't need the toys' small comfort.

* * *

Joyce ran a hand through her hair. She was in the bathroom of the dingy apartment, having just finished her call with MI6. Alex was watching French cartoons in the living room.

It was a small, quaint bathroom. The bathtub was about a third of the room - barely large enough for one person. The off-white stained toilet was beside it, and the dingy white sink was on the opposite wall. It was like a hotel's.

With a sigh, she opened the door to find her accomplices right outside. They were masked - identities thoroughly concealed.

"Amnesty, huh? Funny." He grinned maliciously, then stepped aside. He was the other ringleader; Joyce could hear his gravelly, snide voice.

A henchman was holding Alex, and the poor boy was struggling desperately. Joyce briefly wondered if he understood what was going on, or if he was just terrified. Somehow she suspected the latter.

"Let him go. He's just a boy."

"Got maternal instincts?" the leader asked sarcastically, mocking Hood commericals. The henchmen holding Alex snickered. "You know how we get out of the organization, Joyce." He held up a gun. "Good night."

* * *

Alex stopped struggling when a red cloud appeared behind Joyce and she fell into the bathroom. She wasn't moving.

He'd just been watching cartoons a moment ago. He didn't really understand what was going on. But he liked Joyce, and she seemed to be in trouble. Maybe she was - no, it couldn't be.

Suddenly, Alex felt sick.

Then he was sick.

"Aw, damn brat! He threw up all over me!" the henchman cried. He used one of his hands to wipe off some of the throw-up onto the floor. The leader watched with a vague disinterest.

"I don't care. Let's get the hell out of here. Throw the brat in the bathroom."

"Come on, man! Let me shoot the f***ing brat. This is my favorite black shirt." An object like the thing the other man pointed at Joyce was pointed at Alex. He froze.

The leader snorted. "He doesn't know anything about us. It was Joyce's last wish, after all. She was good until she tried to get out."

Alex was trembling. He only understood a little about what was going on, but he got the distinct feeling that the man holding him was not on his side.

"We don't leave witnesses, boss."

"He's not a witness. He didn't see anything but a dead woman. Come on, throw him in there. We'll barricade the door and let the cops find them."

The man holding Alex finally conceded. "Fine."

Alex felt he was surely dead as he flew onto Joyce's body. He barely registered the sounds outside the bathroom - the lock, the barricade being made, the men leaving.

Alex looked very closely at Joyce. She wasn't moving but was warm. She was wet. Alex knew what the red liquid was.

Blood.

* * *

Ian jumped when his phone went off. The caller ID indicated it was Jones. It was built in as a contact that couldn't be seen, in case the phone was stolen.

"Jones? What's going on?"

"Something's wrong. We were tracking both her cell phone signal and the tracker in Alex, but they've split up."

Ian swallowed hard. "Which one is moving?"

"Alex's tracker." Ian furrowed his eyebrows. That was unusual. "But that's not what's important. We need you to contact Joyce."

"Me?" Ian was very confused.

"Yes, you. Joyce knows you want Alex back. You won't double-cross her, in her eyes."

Ian rolled his eyes. The logic was weak. Jones had been the one to strike the deal, not Ian. But he wasn't about to give up his chance to be involved in Alex's rescue.

"All right. Connect the line for me."

* * *

Alex was sitting in the bathtub with the water running and the curtain drawn, naked. He was trying to wash Joyce's blood off himself. He was shaking horribly, despite the warm water.

He was terrified. And worried.

At first, he'd tried to get Joyce to wake up. Her head had a hole in it, though. Calling her name didn't work, and Alex had panicked. He'd kicked and screamed at her, but nothing seemed to rouse her. Not even touching her breasts - Ian had told him that _infuriated_ women.

It was only a while later when her body got colder that Alex realised she might be dead. That she was dead.

Then he'd climbed into the bathtub. Ian always gave him a bath when he had a nightmare, and he was damn horrified now. The sink had blood in it.

The bathwater was a slight pinkish, so Alex began draining the water to fill it up again with clear water.

_Ring-ring, ring-ring_...

Alex started, then looked around. It was coming from the other side of the curtain.

He didn't want to look. He couldn't look. He knew Joyce was still there.

_Ring-ring, ring-ring..._

He was clean, now. The blood was in the water, and it was washing away, draining. Alex didn't want to get dirty again.

The ringing stopped.

* * *

Ian swore. No one had picked up.

"I can hear you, you know." Ian swore again. Jones was still on the line.

"What now?" he asked after a moment.

"We'll try again. Keep trying. I'm going to stay on the line, for your information."

Ian would never admit it, but he was scared for Alex. "What are you going to do otherwise?"

"We have agents following both signals. One moment, Smithers is hooking us up again."

For a moment, Ian wondered if Jones was trying to make him laugh or if she was that socially incompetent.

He suspected the latter.

* * *

The bathtub had drained. Alex was cold, so he filled it again. This time, the water was clear. Nice, warm, clear water. Alex splashed his hand into the water and watched the ripples bounce off the sides of the white tub.

No red. No red at all. Not even pink.

Alex looked down at his hands, which were shaking. Then he jumped again as Joyce's cellphone began ringing again.

_Ring-ring, ring-ring..._

Alex listened carefully this time. The noise originating from near the door, but it stopped after one ring cycle. It was going directly to voice-mail.

Joyce had dropped it when she was shot. Maybe he could get at it without looking at Joyce or going near her.

Alex pulled back the curtain a little bit to peek out.

Joyce's ankle and leg was pale, and the bottom was blue. Like a sheet of paper that had been dipped in blue from Alex's watercolor set at home. Alex didn't mean to look, but he saw.

She looked dead. Very dead.

Alex's breathing picked up. It was faster than his heart rate. But the phone - if he could talk to someone, maybe he'd be all right. He was a big boy. He could dial Ian's number.

Maybe.

He covered his face with one hand, blocking his view of Joyce, and reached out carefully with the other. Just as he was about to reach it-

_Ring-ring, ring-ring..._

This time, Alex snatched it up and answered. He didn't want to be alone. He yanked the curtain closed as he retrieved his connection to the outside.

* * *

Ian's hands were trembling minutely as he held the phone up to his ear. Anything could have happened. Jones and he had dialed the number twice, but three times was asking for a little much. As the phone began ringing for the third time, Ian sighed and almost missed the voice that was in his ear.

"Hello?" Alex answered, in English. Ian wondered why, but he wasn't about to make Alex change languages. Not now. Not when his voice was distant and scared.

"Alex? Alex, is that you? Are you okay?" Ian was desperately worried, but he was trying to cover it for his nephew's sake.

"I'm okay," Alex answered quietly. "I'm taking a bath."

"A bath? Why?"

"I was dirty. Now I'm clean."

"Alex, where's Joyce? I want to talk to her."

Alex hiccuped. His voice cracked as he answered. "Something bad happened."

"What?" Ian was now extremely worried. "What happened?"

"Two guys showed up and pointed something hissy at Joyce." Ian knew what he meant: a gun. "I threw up on one of them, and he pointed his at me but it didn't hiss. I think... I think Joyce is..." Alex sounded scared and on the verge of crying.

"What, Alex?"

"_Morte_."

Ian's stomach dropped further than humanly possible, and he felt numb. Alex didn't know how to say 'dead' in English.

He was so young...

"Alex? Can you take a deep breath for me?" Ian said calmly, despite his racing heart and speedy retrieval of his coat. He was going to find Alex, no matter what. Ian glanced at the cellphone's map and took off out the door while talking to Alex.

Alex hiccuped again. "_I don't know what's going on, Ian_." Alex's voice was thready and unsteady, and he didn't seem to realise he'd started speaking in French again. He was definitely going into shock. "_They left me in the bathroom with her, and I- I-_"

Ian realised Alex must have been listening to the men's English for a little bit and had been speaking it because of that. Now he was back in French. Ian wasn't going to force him into English, for he didn't want to stress Alex any more.

"_Alex, I need you to take a deep breath. I'm coming. I won't hang up._"

"_Ian, she's-_"

Ian dry-swallowed and kept his voice very, very calm as he tried to get Alex to calm down. "_Alex, can you take a deep breath for me?_"

Alex's breath was audible, but very short. "_Drain the bathtub and take another deep breath, Alex._"

Suddenly, Alex gasped and started crying, punctuating his speech with hiccups. "_I can smell her blood, Ian! She- she-_"

The line fizzled and went dead.

Ian swore.

"I'm still here, you know."

Ian swore again.

* * *

Alex cussed in French. His hands were shaking so badly he'd dropped the phone in the bathwater. It had turned off and stayed off no matter what Alex tried.

He was alone with her body, again.

His breaths were shortening, and things were getting blurry as he started crying in torrents. He was only five - why him? Why now?

Alex tried to reach the drain to let it empty like Ian said to, but he couldn't move. He was petrified. It was as if Joyce's ghost was pulling him under the water. Alex hyperventilated at the thought.

The edges of his vision darkened, and Alex succumbed quickly.

* * *

"Rider? Don't rush in. We don't know the situation or if Alex is alone," Jones instructed.

"Get real, Jones. Did he sound alone to you? Do you think they'd give him a _bath_? He's alone, Jones. They left him behind with the body. He might drown if we don't reach him in time."

Jones was silent. Ian snapped the phone shut before she could answer. He didn't need her answer.

Ian reached the apartment where Joyce's cellphone had been marked on his phone. Thankfully, it was fairly close to where Ian had been. Ian parked illegally, grabbed his briefcase, and ran inside.

He grabbed one of the residents who happened to be exiting her room. "_Where's Joyce's room?_" he asked fiercely.

"_What? Why are you-_"

Ian yelled in her face. "_My kid is dying in her room - tell me where the f*** she is!_"

The resident mumbled out the answer. "_S-second floor, third on the right_."

Ian barely said thanks before racing up the stairs and breaking down Joyce's apartment door. It seemed to be alright, until he saw the bathroom. It was barricaded off. Some dried throw-up was on the floor; its rancid smell raised hairs on the back of Ian's neck.

Ian moved the sofa surprisingly quickly, given his strength. It must have been the adrenaline. He tore the door down with a well-aimed kick.

Joyce's body. Just like he'd guessed. The bathtub's curtain was drawn.

_I'm taking a bath..._

Ian ripped the curtain aside. His own breath left him. Alex was unconscious, underwater. He must have been leaning against the side of the tub, passed out, dropped Joyce's cellphone - which was under the water - and fallen. Without a moment to spare, Ian yanked Alex out of the water.

To his eternal relief, Alex began coughing up the water. Ian glanced around and grabbed a clean towel from beside the door, then took Alex into the living room away from both the coppery smell of the blood and the reek of the throw-up and put him down on the couch. He covered him with the towel carefully, drying him.

After what felt like an eternity, Alex stopped coughing and croaked, "_Ian?_"

"_That's me_."

"_What happened?_"

Ian blinked. Alex didn't remember.

It was probably better that way.

"_You fell asleep in the bath, and I wasn't watching carefully. You almost drowned._"

"_Oh._"

"_One moment. Just stay here, okay?_" Alex nodded, and Ian went to get his briefcase from where he dropped it. He didn't remember when he'd dropped it. "_Here - get dressed._"

Alex sat up, confused, and took the offered clothes: one of his favorite outfits with the jeans and smiley-face shirt. "_Where are we?_"

Ian didn't even try to answer his question. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the toweled Alex, who didn't say anything else. Somehow, Alex seemed to understand that Ian wasn't up for answering, and let the older man hold him tightly. He even buried his face into Ian's shoulder and hugged him back, giving Ian comfort in his own five-year-old way.

"_You're okay,_" Ian murmured quietly. He wasn't sure who he was talking to. "_You're okay..._"

"Rider!" a new voice chimed in. Then the agent saw Alex. "Oh, damn."

Ian sighed. It had been a long day and night.

* * *

Back in Chelsea, Ian cracked the second egg next to the first carefully. His nephew deserved a treat - the boy had barely asked what happened, even when the other agents showed up. He just let Ian hold him (after getting dressed quickly) and rock him to sleep. They'd barely been given any time to pack up before MI6 shipped them back to Britain. It was no surprise, though - the mission was over, thanks to Alex.

However, MI6 banned bringing family on missions altogether. Ian knew why. They had told him so on his plane ride back to Britain.

"And if you _ever_ pull anything like that _ever again_, you don't even have to give a report." The agent (who Ian didn't recognize) had thoroughly chewed Ian out for disobeying orders, then complimented him for saving Alex's life. Then they told him Alex had managed to throw up the tracking device onto the henchman and had therefore saved the day, with the headquarters being located not long after.

The organization had catastrophic plans, which had been foiled by Alex's barf.

How sickening.

"Ian?" Alex asked, rubbing his eyes and pulling Ian out of his thoughts. "What's for breakfast?"

Ian smiled at his nephew and held out a plate of eggs with a piece of bacon. It looked like a smiley face. "Your favorite."

The boy's smile was wider than the bacon-egg face's. "Thanks!"

Maybe Ian shouldn't have brought Alex into his dangerous world. Maybe he should have left him to the orphanage, like the MI6 agents suggested.

And perhaps Alex would lose that glorious smile in time, which radiated warmth and just how happy he was as he scarfed down the left 'eye'. Perhaps he'd grow to detest water, despite how much he loved the ocean the first time he saw it.

Perhaps MI6 would remember how Alex assisted them, however unintentionally.

Regardless, Alex was back, safe and sound. That was what really mattered.

* * *

AN: You've reached the end of this chapter with a solid WHUMP! XD

Remember, NEVER leave young kids unattended in a bath. They can drown.

Really.

Thanks for reading. Did you like it?


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